Tag: sex

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Prisoner again

It turns out, she did fuck me. She hadn’t had her cock in such a long time and as she slid down onto it, she moaned and purred in appreciation. It felt hot on the skin of the cock – hotter than I remember. And yeah, I came. I held back as long as I could, but there wasn’t any stopping it. She felt me come and that just made her all the more enthusiastic, but she was still a ways off from her own. The head of the cock felt like it was on fire in its post-orgasmic hypersensitivity, but she fucked it anyway. Fucked it until she came and I was a panting, sweaty pile of meat beneath her.

Beforehand, she had told me she didn’t care if I came. I really hate that. “I don’t care if you come” is, like, the exact opposite position I want her to have. I can think of several things I’d have rather she said. Such as, “you can come, but not until after me,” or “you can’t come and if you do I’m locking you right now,” or “if you come I get to punch you in the nuts three times/burn your nuts with Icy Hot” – just about anything other than I don’t care if you come. That’s the worse.

Before this fucking, we had talked about “taking a break”, but couldn’t really define what exactly we’d be taking a break from. There are things she likes about our arrangement that she just doesn’t want to live without and will not easily agree to giving up, even temporarily. Personally, I wanted to come more. I wanted a period where I was allowed to come pretty much whenever I wanted. I found that, the more I came the more I wanted to come. Not withstanding anything I wrote in my last post, each orgasm seems to push away my desire to be in the device or denied in general. After nearly three months of nothing, I wanted a change of scenery. I still do think that most of the time I should live without and with as much desire for them as possible, but it’s also the case that we only appreciate the things we don’t have when we – you know – have them, at least for a little while.

But she wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t feel I was being sufficiently worshipful what with my two orgasms and being out and all. She wanted me back in. But, just like in London, for some reason she never pulled the trigger. Each day it was going to be tomorrow. I did not want to get locked up again. Even if I couldn’t come, I still liked having the option to jack off. But, even though she couldn’t bring herself to lock me up, it was very important to her. One morning last week, after she had already left for work, I locked myself back into the Steelheart.

All that day, all I could think about was what a pain in the ass it was. Heavy, bulging, pushing my nuts around (sometimes painfully). I’ve said before how it has felt like the device and its contents become one unit. How the shiny steel shell starts to feel like my natural state. Well, on that first day especially, it was very clearly two separate things. A prison and its prisoner. Unnatural and invasive. Even though I had done it willingly, I can’t say I was very happy about it.

That night, when she discovered I was in, she was very pleased. Her pleasure caused the tube to pressurize. And, from that moment on, I became more like she wanted me to be. I am a different person when I’m locked up and, as each day passed, that other person – Thumper – has come to the fore. It’s hasn’t been a complete conversion. Sometimes, I still feel myself rebelling against the steel. And my desire to have access to the cock has an edge to it that it didn’t before I came. But this is what Belle wanted, so this is how I am.

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2 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

That’s as far as I got. Two months, three weeks, and five days.

The end began with me getting Belle off. She was on her period and I was locked, so it was your regular nipple sucking, clit fingering affair, except when it was over, my motor got stuck revving at about 5,000 RPM. Belle had been slapping my nuts around a bit and, if I remember correctly, had placed little chrome clips on my nipples. I was rubbing and pulling and stroking the hard metal tube, grinding my butt into the sheets, and generally tripping out on my own desperation.

“Oh, god, I want to come,” I moaned, almost against my will.

She reminded me my time wasn’t up yet. I said it again. She repeated herself. I did, too.

Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but I don’t want to read your whining on the blog about it later and feeling all sorry for yourself.”

I pondered. On the one hand, I liked begging only to be refused. That’s how I had started, not actually expecting to be allowed out. I enjoy it when she makes me suffer. But, as I laid there, I found I really and truly wanted to come. I needed to.  Two months, three weeks, and five days was a really long time. I wanted to go to 100 days, and I was almost there, but the reptilian maleness had taken notice of the chance it was being presented with and pushed me onward. The rational side of my brain, also desperately horny and wanting very badly to come, said that the 100 day thing was never Belle’s idea in the first place. I had come up with it. If she was OK with me coming now, and I declined, then who, exactly, was denying who? I almost had to come in order to preserve the order of things. Yeah, that’s it.

So anyway, I took her up on it. She got the key and I removed the metal and immediately started stroking while she looked on. Right from the start, it didn’t feel at all like the last time she let me beat the meat. This time, I knew, was going to be productive. There would be gobs of sticky white stuff all over me when I was done, not a rapid release so I could retreat from the edge of bliss. I felt the cock swell and the internal gears lock into place. In maybe just a minute, I could feel the point of no return rushing towards me, then fly past me. I started to come.

It was very intense. So intense, I can’t remember how many slugs I shot, but it was many. I felt a prickly wave run from my scalp down the back of neck and into my shoulders. I wanted the surging hot goo to never stop coming out of me. Never. I just. Wanted. To come. And come and come and feel that crescendo of orgasm last forever.

But, of course, it didn’t. In fact, just as suddenly as it started, I felt myself slip off the peak. I was still milking the meat, squeezing every last drop out, but the shores of Climax Island pulled away from me at sonic speeds. And, while not remorseful at all, I was disappointed. I felt almost immediately a sense of loss. Like I had been swindled into a transaction that I realized was a con the second my money left my hands.

This is beyond kink now. I do like the tease, the torture, the bondage of the device, and all that very much. But now that I live without them, I find the actual orgasm to be rather empty. The anticipation, the craving, the heightened sexual existence that comes from their nearly total absence is more rewarding, many times more, than the squirt it all revolves around. I feel so much when I’ve been denied – so much more alive – that the post orgasmic period feels nearly vacant of any feeling. The edge is all gone. The texture of my everyday horned up, locked up life is obliterated by the explosion of ejaculation. There’s no way the actual event of orgasm could ever live up to it.

In fact, I felt very little for several days afterward. Belle would ask how I was doing and I gave her noncommittal kind of grunts because, in fact, I felt very noncommittal. Neither good nor bad, hot nor cold, up nor down. I just was. Again, I wasn’t at all remorseful. Just kinda empty.

My feeling about it now is that infrequent ejaculation is necessary. Like an oil change or something. I need the occasional squirt to reset the levels and the vague emptiness it leaves me with is just a part of the cycle. I do know that, as I am once again starting to regain my sexual desire, I no longer like the feeling of what I once called sexual satisfaction. Living in a state of always wanting more is far better.

—

The other night, I was in bed with Belle, naked as she told me I could be and feeling the first inkling of sexual desire return. In the distant past, this feeling would have sent me into the bathroom to quickly and quietly rub one out over the sink, but that not being an option anymore, I was grabbing Belle. She had left me unlocked since the end of the two months, three weeks, and five days, so anything was possible. I made my move and was typically guy-like in my bluntness.

“I like you better when you’re locked up,” she said in exasperation. Just like that. I like you better when you’re locked up.

Almost immediately, she started to back away from the comment, hemming and hawing as if she had said too much. As if it would bother me to hear it. Finally, she corrected herself and said, “I like us better when you’re locked up.”

That might be true, but my actions would not have caused her to express that particular sentiment. She meant what she said originally: She likes it better when I’m sexually compliant. When the device she locks onto my body leaves me far less aggressive. When my frustration has no where to go and, in desperation, I seek only her climax as a surrogate for my own release.

And, of course, I was immediately very hard and way more turned on than I had been before her true feelings slipped out. I wish she’d own these feelings more and not be worried about my reaction to them. Hell, that’s exactly how I hope she feels. Hearing her say it – that she liked me better when I was under her control and unable to express myself sexually in any way other than in service to her – filled me with excitement, and not all of it sexual. I know that I occasionally push her up to her position of dominance (like so many other men in my situation) and that it hasn’t always come naturally to her or been something she’s comfortable with. But here she was, really feeling it. She hadn’t thought at all about what she was saying before she said it. It was awesomely honest and in no way contrived to elicit a certain response from me.

—

As I’ve been writing this, Belle asked me what I was doing. I told her and then I read to her the first 800 words or so. I’ve never read out loud to her what I write here and doing so was equal parts embarrassing, exhilarating, and revealing. I hope she asks me to do it again sometime.

In any event, I’m hoping to get the dick wet tonight. It’s been a really long time since she fucked me and I’m thinking a lot about how it’ll feel. She’s told me I’m going back into the device tomorrow, though she hasn’t said for how long. Nor has she said how long it’ll be before I come again. Perhaps she’ll let me tonight. I wouldn’t fight her on it. Even though I want to live without them, I feel the need for one. I want to feel it again. Just as much as I want to keep on feeling the need. She could start me on another period of extended denial and I’d like that, too.

Either way, I’m good.

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Changes

So a funny thing’s happened. Well, two things really and I’m not sure they’re all that funny (as in, haha kind of funny) but happened they have.

Faithful readers will know I’ve continued to have a serious thing for porn even though I’m now nearly continuously locked in a device and, even when I’m not, having an orgasm is not an option. Basically, I look at it (and read it and watch it and would roll around naked in it if I could) simply to feel the sensation of ever-escalating levels of arousal. However, as I said in my last post, even though Belle was out of town and that would normally leave me plenty of time to indulge my habit, it never really sparked for me. I did try by visiting the usual haunts, but even when I was sorting images for the Portfolio, I never really found myself getting overly hot and bothered. Whenever I started to move in that direction, I’d find myself not thinking, “Gee, I wish I could stroke myself right now,” and instead thought, “Gee, I wish I could be stroking Belle right now.” My urge to orgasm and masturbate and in any way experience pleasure while consuming the porn was all about her orgasm and masturbation and pleasure. Since I effectively no longer have a cock (at least as a pathway for sexual pleasure), those autonomic impulses have been rewired to focus on her sex organs and orgasm.

I did find myself pausing, slack-jawed, over images of big fat cocks with ejaculate running down their sides or other images of semen puddling on a woman’s stomach or of a woman’s hand wrapped around a cock as its payload was shooting out or of some guy’s face dripping with spunk, but I looked at them the same way I watch a show on the lifestyles of the rich and famous or when some dude in a really sweet classic Corvette drives by. I longed to be in their places, but in a detached “that could never happen to me” kind of way. I will never have that fabulous all-glass house overlooking the ocean and I will never drive the 1976 ‘Vette, but isn’t it fun to think about. Similarly, I will not be shooting my own copious load any time soon, but wow, look at what that guy did!

I told Belle about this shift in attitude the night she got home and, even though I wasn’t really trying for anything that very moment, she let me get her off. In short order, I found myself sucking on her clit, hard meat in the device painfully pressing into the bed, and an almost physical connection to her climax. I felt completely plugged-in to her pleasure. As she arched her back, I tensed and moaned right along with her. She came and I felt the release inside me. We enjoyed a simultaneous orgasm but without the distraction of my own getting in the way. I was still so, so fucking horny afterward and couldn’t take my hands off her or press myself close enough to her, but I was satisfied. In the only way I can be now. And it was fucking great.

The second thing that’s happened is I’ve almost totally lost my whole “service sub” vibe. Ever since we were in London and I was profoundly knocked out of my headspace, I have felt barely a quiver of interest in really serving Belle. I’ve been a bit lazier and more self-centered. The other night, I got home and she was pissed at me for not keeping the house in order while she was gone. It was, I thought, in pretty good shape, but it wasn’t up to her standards. Then last night, I totally spaced on making her coffee. Turns out, she’s not very pleased with me (told me I “wasn’t on her list of favorite people”). I don’t like her to be unhappy, but I’m very glad to see there is an element of our dynamic she really doesn’t want to live without. She’s grown to expect the service from me. You could read this as a failure on my part (and it surely is), but it’s also reassuring in that we have developed a symbiotic feedback loop and integrated it into our lives. This is really kinda cool.

Now if I could only get my vibe back, we’d both be happy. And she might even let me share another orgasm.

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Random updates

My blogging performance has been substandard of late, so here’s a few random nuggets of information to get my wheels turning again…

—

I got the replacement lock to the Steelheart yesterday. This time, I noticed that Dietmar rounded the sharp brass edges before he sent it. Not sure if this is a change he made based on my review (or comments like it) or if the first one I got was an anomaly, but I was pleased to see the change. I’m also pleased now to be wearing a lock with two keys! Belle changed it out last night.

—

During the week she let me out of the device, there was a morning where my sexual appetite combined with the free erection caused me to snuggle aggressively into Belle. She, wanting to sleep a bit more, kinda rolled over and placed her hand directly onto the hard cock. And then fell back to sleep. Her breathing was deep and regular while mine was more shallow and quick while, for a relatively long time (like, twenty minutes), her hand just sat there and the cock underneath would soften slightly then harden again, over and over. I’d flex it just a little to get more stimulation, but I was afraid if I did it too much her hand would have rolled off of she would have turned over or something. It was torture. But, you know, I’m not complaining.

—

Belle had told me she was going to lock me back up on a Sunday, but the Sunday rolled around and nothing happened. Then, she said it would be Monday, but similarly, Monday night saw no locking. It’s not that I was anxious to be locked back up (after about a week, I like the freedom), but her laissez-faire attitude left me feeling a little anxious. When she doesn’t act decisive in her control – when she appears to not take it seriously – it tends to make me feel more insecure and unhappy. I know this is more my issue than hers, but I can’t control how I feel. I shared with her this observation and she had me in the device the next morning.

—

She fucked me just once during my time out and it resulted in an unauthorized emission. I’m not calling it an orgasm because I fought it really hard and clamped down when it started and basically ruined the whole thing (based on the fact that it didn’t feel like an orgasm afterward). I made it right up to the end when she was coming and I thought I was home free. Letting my attention wander for just a split second let it happen.

In any event, I was yet again disappointed in myself for not being able to better control my autonomic functions. The night before, she had said she was going to make me wait a hundred days for my next orgasm and there I was 24 hours later having a barely-controlled squirt that was about as close to an orgasm as a guy can get without actually going over the falls. This led us, more than a week later, to talk about our differing feelings about these events. On the one hand, she just wants to fuck her cock. It’s what she wants and she doesn’t really care what happens as a result of her getting it. I understand that and respect it. On the other hand, I’m not supposed to come and when I do (or get as dangerously close as I did that night), she doesn’t seem to care. There’s next to no consequences and most of the time she doesn’t even say that much about it. Just like not seeming to care when I’m locked up, not seeming to care one way or the other if I come makes me feel like I take this more seriously than she does. This is a difficult place for my inner submissive rabbit to occupy.

I’m not sure we have a solution, but at least we’re talking about it. I feel just as bad suggesting she shouldn’t get her cock when she wants it. I don’t want to deny her anything, let alone the thing I gave her to do with what she wants. Maybe it’s a question of defining consequences so when I fail to control myself, I still feel dominated as opposed to sneaking in a freebee.

I guess the bottom like is I need to feel like she wants to dominate me at least as much as I want to me dominated. This hardly makes me unique. I’m not questioning that she enjoys our dynamic. In fact, she told me the other night she never wants to go back to the way things used to be. Either I need to be in a place where I more consistently accept the way she approaches her end of the deal or she needs to make a few tweaks around the edges (or maybe a little of both).

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All in one night

Based on a true story. 😉

“Get naked and give me the clamps,” she said. Then, after a moment, “And the floggie croppie thing, too.”

I did as she said, then climbed back into bed.

“Lay on your back.” I did. She attached a butterfly clamp to my right nipple, then the left. She tugged on the chain connecting them to test their grip. Twin lasers of sharp pain lit up in my brain.

“Roll over. Get up on your knees.” I did. She found my balls with the wide end of the crop. I could feel the hard, smooth leather cold against my scrotum. She held it there for a moment in an almost soothing way. Then she started to hit me. Lightly at first, then harder. Then harder. I took as much as I could, my ass rising into the air a little bit with each whack, before pulling my right leg off the bed and away from the blows. She yanked down on the chain attached to my nipples and pulled until my face was against the sheets.

This cycle repeated several times. Between attacks on my testicles, she’d pull and twist the chain, searing the soft pink flesh with the bite of the clamps. The blows to my balls didn’t make the kind of deep internal pain one usually associates with the most vulnerable part of a man’s body. It was more like surface slapping, but uncomfortable just the same. Difficult to take.

Finally, she took the shaft of the crop and shoved it roughly into my mouth, holding it there like the bit on a horse’s bridle. She pushed my head back and away from her while simultaneously pulling the chain closer. My back bent sharply as I tried to lessen the agony on my nipples, but it wasn’t enough. First the right clamp, then the left ripped off. I cried out as she removed the crop from my mouth, collapsing on the bed, whimpering. Nipples throbbing, balls stinging.

—

“Now you’re going to take care of me.”

“How?” I asked quietly. “How do you want me to take care of you?”

“In the usual manner,” meaning with my long fingers and soft lips, “but have Pink ready just in case you’re not enough.”

I took the little pink vibrator from my dresser drawer and placed it under me to get warm, just in case. Then I ran my hand across her body, stopping on the mound of her pubis. I could feel the cleft of her pussy lips, hot beneath the fabric of her bedclothes. I exposed her breast and started to lick her nipple.

She moaned. “Mmmmm, that’s good, Thumper. My tits were hot for you. They missed you so much.”

I licked and sucked one while fingering the other. Her moaning deepened while her hips gyrated beneath the sheets. My free hand wandered down and slipped under her draw string. My finger found her snatch, soft and radiating heat.

She moaned again. “Of, fuck. God, Thumper, my pussy missed you, too. It’s so hot and wet. Hot and wet for you, Thumper. Does that make you hard? Hard in your steel tube? Knowing how badly my pussy wants you? Knowing you can’t have it?”

This time, I moaned. I felt the relentless steel bite into the base of my swelling erection.

“I want you to eat me. Now.”

I moved over her, stopping to lick her opposite nipple. Her hips rose up and she ground her crotch into the steel trap on my manhood. Her trap and her manhood. I dropped down and placed my mouth against her pussy, lapping it like a hungry animal. My hands reached up and played with her nipples.

“Get pink,” she gasped, “Put it in me. All the way in.”

I turned the little vibe on and fumbled trying to get it in her. In the dim candlelight, I couldn’t find the right spot fast enough for her. She grabbed it out of my hand and slid it deep into her pussy right before my eyes.

“Like that,” she admonished, “Now leave it there.”

I went back to licking her clit, my chin bumping up against the end of the humming vibrator nearly disappeared inside her. As her pleasure increased, she started to whisper, “oh, fuck” again and again. Faster and louder as my tongue worked rapidly and my steel-clad erection pressed hard into the bed. She started to say something, but clamped her legs onto my head, shutting off my ability to hear her.

She reached down and grabbed twin handfuls of my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, bucking her hips up to meet me, tension and energy building throughout her body. Then, she stopped…holding it. Holding. At the top of the crest, her orgasm coursing through her, my tongue stationary and pressed against her in the way she’s taught me. Then, release. Her legs relaxed and she let go of my hair. I removed the vibe and pressed its little button, turning it off. Everything was silent as she basked, glowing.

—

“Get on your back,” she told me again. I did. I could still taste and smell her. My nose, mouth, and chin were all wet and redolent. She was moving next to me and then was doing something with the device. I realized she had the key and was looking for the lock.

I’m wasn’t sure what this meant since she told me just that morning that I wasn’t going to come for another 27 days, but there she was, apparently trying to unlock me right after her orgasm. In the 12 years we’ve been married, I can count on one hand the number of times she’s come twice in one evening. I couldn’t imagine why she was doing this.

“Um, what are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like I”m doing,” she said, still struggling to get the long key into the brass locking mechanism.

“Don’t break it in there.”

“I have a spare.”

“Yeah, but if you break the key off in the lock, I’ll never get out of it again.” Besides, I think, I have to fly on Wednesday. How will I ever get through the metal detector with this thing forever locked onto me? Then it occurred to me that she may be unlocking me early as some sort of reward. Oh!

“Can I do that for you?”

She handed me the key and I quickly removed the lock, handing it and the key back to her. I pulled off the tube, the metal rod that secures it to my piercing, and the ring. She immediately started playing with the freed cock which, unfortunately, was still flaccidly stunned to be suddenly out in the open air. After a few moments of rhythmic attention, it began to lengthen.

Then, fully hard, she stopped to climb up onto me. She lined the cock up with her swollen, slippery pussy and it slid in easily. She said nothing so I had no idea what was expected of me, but I knew better than to think this was for my benefit. I tried to put my mind as far away as possible from the sensation of her sliding up and down on the stiff shaft.

She was plainly enjoying herself and, except that I was servicing her breasts while she was fucking me, didn’t seem to care much for what I was doing. I tried to hold still and not reciprocate so as to help minimize the sensations I was feeling and was pleasantly surprised at how well I was holding off. As she got closer to her second orgasm of the evening, she started to get vocal and this time I didn’t have her legs to help muffle the sound.

Hearing her so vociferously get her rocks off on me brought my own orgasm into being. Just like that I was grunting and exploded inside her – zero to 60 in one second.

As soon as she felt me start to come, she cried out, “FUCK ME!” and boy did I. A millisecond later, she came all over again.

—

She got back into bed and found me totally unmoved from the position she left me a few minutes before. She propped her head up on her elbow and said, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about that one.”

“I don’t,” I said, and I didn’t. Not remotely. “It’s not like I had any choice.”

She laughed. “I love it when we come like that. At the same time. That was something special. Totally worth it.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said while handing me the key and lock, “Now go put that thing back on.”

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Top five

First off, I just have to say UGH! Vikings. Jesus. UGH!!

There. That’s off my chest.

Going into this weekend, I had been given guidance by Belle that I’d be locked up on Friday. She left me unlocked for almost a week, though due to various nighttime work-related activities for both of us, we never connected over the course of the week (where “connected” means “fucked”). Friday night came and went and I was still free as a bird.

That caused me to cop a bit of an attitude. In our brief conversation the next day, she told me she didn’t want to lock me up until she had chance to take advantage of the unencumbered member. I told her I figured as much, but it would have been nice to hear what she was thinking. Friday morning, she had made a point of reminding me what her plans were that night, but when the night came, she snuggled up in bed and went right to sleep. Nothing happened. That, of course, is her prerogative, but it left me feeling somewhat miffed. Absence of action along with an absence of communication is difficult to deal with. All I need to hear is that she’s changing her plans and I’m cool. That little bit of communication helps assure me she still takes all this seriously. Anyway, it wasn’t that big of a deal. And we talked, so it’s all good.

Saturday night, I hustled the kids off to bed as early as reasonable (though clearly unreasonably early, according to the eleven-year-old). Once they were down for the count, Belle told me she wanted us to have good old-fashioned vanilla sex. Well, maybe vanilla with a few kinky sprinkles on top since, naturally, I wasn’t allowed to come.

I went into it not feeling too insecure with regard to coming accidentally. However, after several minutes of slow fucking, I started to feel myself get drawn in to the action. I try to keep my mind on other things (like her nipples, work, the political ramifications of recent special elections), but I was quickly running out of distractions and she was obviously enjoying what I was doing to her. With remarkably little warning, I found myself past the point of no return. I told her I was coming, but I could tell she was still a little ways off.

“Keep fucking,” she said.

So I did. I fucked right through the orgasm. It felt really good for about one and a half seconds before the head of the cock started to burn and all the muscles I had been contorting so I could keep my mouth on her nipple, one hand on the other nipple, and the cock in her pussy all at the same time started to complain. The joy of the orgasm was swept away by the psychic energy necessary to keep my rhythm. The load of spunk I shot into her completely changed the viscosity of her lubrication and once it got good and sloppy, she started to arch her back and breath heavier.

“Keep….fucking,” she ordered me, “KEEP…FUCKING…”

She reached up with both hands and grabbed onto the headboard while I did as I was told and humped her harder and faster. I hadn’t lost the erection, but the sensations coming up from it were no longer at all pleasurable. She finally came extraordinarily hard and it was all I could do to keep myself from collapsing onto her.

After I rolled off, she gasped, “Top five. That was one of the top five of all time.”

So on the one hand, I’m really happy she had such a tremendous orgasm. On the other hand, I’m upset with myself that I came. But on the third hand (work with me here), at least it wasn’t pleasurable. Totally ruined.

Sunday, I put on the device.

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He comes laughing

I woke up Saturday morning at our family compound in the North Woods at 5:28. That’s within 5 minutes of when I woke up every day for the previous week or so. Usually I get up and pee since, as any guy knows, peeing helps alleviate morning wood and some days the wood’s so woody that the ring of the device is biting harder than a snapping turtle chomping on a guy’s tit. Not every day, but most days. I guess you could say that beside all the other reasons chastity is good for us, it’s also convenient having a reliable alarm clock with you wherever you go.

The night before, after rolling in moderately late and getting the kids settled down and asleep, Belle and I were laying in bed sipping Bailey’s, me naked at her direction, talking about the Steelheart again. I had been wearing it for 25 days and, while maybe not a record, it was pushing it. You leave something like that on yourself for so long and you start to lose physical memory of what it was like before it came along. We have both come to think of it as the cock and not just something over it. I told her how happy it made me to be wearing something she liked so much.

“Oh no”, she corrected me, “I don’t just like it. I love it.” Whimper.

The next afternoon, she unlocked it so I could prepare myself for that night. I was happy to see no surprises lurking under the steel. It all seemed perfectly normal (though I imagined it blinking and covering it’s eyes after so long in the dark). I cleaned both it and myself and shaved the spots I can’t normally get to. For the remainder of the day, I was commando in my pajama bottoms.

As the fabric rubbed against the head of the cock, I found the skin more and more sensitive to it. I don’t know if it’s something to do with the material of the device or if the PA fixing holds it such that it doesn’t come in contact with anything when it’s in there, but by the time we went to bed, it was really kind of driving me nuts. There’s nothing apparently wrong with it (maybe a little red), but it remains extraordinarily sensitive, even today.

The evening’s sexual activities were pretty standard fare. She let me give her an pretty great orgasm using my fingers and mouth (while she gently abused my balls) before I entered her. Once it was in the friendly confines of the warm and wet, any discomfort I felt on the head of the cock disappeared. The now thoroughly defeated sex lizard stirred just enough for me to lose myself in the act of fucking her, but not so much that I forgot to do as Ms. Rika suggests and ask to stop just before I came. I knew Belle wanted me to, and I figured I was going to, but Belle also liked Rika’s tactic of always having the man ask to stop before he comes (to ask if he can’t as opposed to asking if he can). In any event, the question surprised Belle and by the time she answered that she did want me to come, it was too late anyway. Nothing in the world was going to stop it.

I felt between four and five fat, healthy squirts followed by a large number of post-orgasmic flexes and throbs. It felt. So. Good. Seriously, top 10% of all orgasms. I even laughed. I once had a boyfriend who laughed when he came and I never really understood it since I’ve always felt orgasms were deadly serious business, but there I was, laughing. It was wonderful. Belle later commented on the prolific nature of the orgasm’s payload and I reminded her that it was 28 days worth with no relief (no milking and very little ancillary leakage).

Sleep reached up and forcibly pulled me down into its grasp. I slept incredibly hard and can remember no dreams. Just deep, deep sleep. And I didn’t wake up until Belle did at 7:30.

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Potpourri

About a year ago, I discovered a little statue made by Auguste Rodin called Eternal Idol over on Male Submission Art and fell in love with it. I have no idea if Rodin was subbie, but he’s perfectly captured a moment of male submission in this work. Ever since I found it, I’ve been thinking of getting a copy for Belle but was never able to find one that didn’t look like ass. Asking the Google brings up a ton of links to one particularity nasty knock-off and only a few to the one pictured above (in fact, so obscure, I can’t even find it again). It’s a copy made from the original and currently resides on Belle’s nightstand, a Christmas present from her little bunny.

In other news, I can report that the miracle of human adaptability is again taking place in my pants. When I first got the Steelheart back from the Fatherland, I told you the ring was very tight. Almost too tight. On the border of intolerably tight, to be honest. It woke me up several times a night with its tightness and the accompanying testicular pain. Now, just over a week later, I’ve somehow adjusted. It’s still tight, but the testicular aching is gone. It now wakes me up just like the CB6K did once I got used to it. Somewhere between 5:00 and 6:00, my stainless alarm clock pulls me out of my sleep and makes me get up and pee. This morning, I could have even stayed in bed. I expect that soon, I’ll sleep right though it.

I’d love to know what’s going on when that happens. Are things moving around in there? Are the pain receptors burning out? I don’t notice anything different on the outside, but somehow the very same device is causing my body to react differently. It’s amazing, if you think about it, that a guy can have a thing like this strapped to him and eventually just roll with it.

Yesterday, to celebrate our day off, Belle and I had sex. We brought the rabbit vibe out for only its second performance. I suggested we try to dollar-cost average its per-use expense down from $110/orgasm to only $55/orgasm. Maybe even lower if she liked it. Last time, she used it on herself and I watched. This time, I wanted to use it on her. I still have, even though I’m unable to do it myself, a strong urge to fuck her. Her usual stand-by, Pink the vibrator, is very nice, but not really a fucking tool. It’s too small. I know, it’s not really about me and all, but I’m interpreting Belle’s Rule to mean after 72 hours, I can lobby for anything.

Anyway, at first she declined the rabbit. She wanted my fingers. So, like the dutifully denied husband that I am, I let go of the rabbit idea and started to work on her. There was no rush since we were home alone and it was the middle of the morning. I climbed above her and kissed her nipples and started to stroke her pussy in an unhurried way. The device was soon filled and straining and, since I was above her, hanging down and bumping into her. I moved between her legs and pressed its warm hardness into her snatch. I rubbed it against her clit, not really knowing if it would do anything for her. But it did. She liked it.

“God, I want to fuck you so bad, Belle Fille.”

“Then go ahead. Try it.”

I started to press the Steelheart into her pussy. I could feel her heat radiate through it, but felt no other sensation other than the familiar pressure of the tube restraining me. Its downward curve made any kind of real fucking impossible, but I could feel it being enveloped by her while I fingered her clit. Every little cell in my brain was pushing me to fuck her, and even though a perfectly hard cock was a fraction of an inch away from a wet and willing pussy, it was not to be.

“Get the rabbit,” she said.

I hopped out of bed, hot steel swinging between my legs, and got the rabbit vibe from our toy box. I couldn’t find any lube, so I stuck it my mouth and covered it with spit. After warming it up under the covers for a minute while I worked on increasing her natural lube, I turned it on.

Now, I was really fucking her. The rabbit’s vibrating ears tickled her clit while the lavender head of the shaft (noticeably bigger than me) worked in and out. One hand on the vibe, the other on one nipple, my mouth on the other, she soon was going over the falls and having what seemed to me a pretty serious orgasm.

After a few moments of basking, I asked to be beaten. She said she would and ordered me up on my hands and knees. Then she whipped my ass and upper thighs with the crop. I can’t say how long it went on, but I’m sure my ass was glowing red when it was over. It stung for the better part of the day as we went to the movies and just hung out together. I think I must have told her half a dozen times how much I liked the beating. We so seldom get to do that now that all our hitty toys are so noisy…

Finally, Belle told me that my initial showed up on her calendar again. After only two weeks, I’ll be allowed another orgasm this Saturday (or thereabouts). She told me that any freedom from the device would be short-lived since its presence keeps me properly focused. She made me admit that I knew it was true. It is. I’m a much better bunny when I’m in my cage.

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Thumper’s night

Yes, she let me come on Saturday.

The whole thing was wonderful. Before we got down to business, she told me to undress and get into bed. I did, on my knees, burrowing my face into her, kneeling and demonstrating my willingness to submit. She ran her hand up my naked back and caressed my skin with her nails. I hadn’t been feeling super submissive up to that point, but the weight of the event was starting to dawn on me. I was going to have an orgasm. An orgasm I really wanted and was only going to get because she was allowing it to happen. I got under the covers and laid next to her, opening myself to more of her caressing.

She ran her hands all over me except on the aching part that wanted it the most. I shifted around trying to help her find what she was obviously avoiding.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please touch it.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” she replied calmly. She’s always calm in bed. I get so turned on and fight for control and she stays cool and collected.

“I want it so bad.”

“I know.”

After a few moments, she finally found her cock. I gasped. Even though I had been unlocked for weeks and had plenty of opportunity to feel a hand on my erections, this was altogether different. This was her hand.

“How many times did you play with this while I left you unlocked?” She asked. I avoided her eyes. I hadn’t expected that. I felt guilty. “How many times?” she repeated. Not angrily, but firmly.

“I don’t know…” I said sheepishly. I felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You don’t know,” she repeated.

“No, I don’t,” I said. Then, eventually, “Lots. More than I should have.”

“Uh huh.”

“You said I could that one time,” I said, gamely groping for an out.

She grabbed my nuts and squeezed. The pain was instant and severe. I gasped as her griped tightened and I felt one testicle slowly and uncomfortably grind against the other. She let go and I collapsed against her, panting. The pain throbbed dully and the cock was harder than before.

After a few moments of relief, she quickly grasped my testes in her hand again, squeezing even harder than before. The pain seared up and out of my groin and spread throughout my body. Her nails began to dig into the soft scrotum skin. I realized I was being punished for playing with her cock.

“I’m sorry,” I finally gasped and she released me.

I nuzzled into her and apologized again.

“You’re weak,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I’ve been far too indulgent with you,” she said. “I’m going to lock you back up tomorrow. You need to focus more on me.”

“Yes, Belle Fille,” I whispered. Her attitude was unexpected, as was the intensity of her punishment. She had quickly driven me deeply into subspace.

A short while later, she allowed me to begin bringing her to orgasm. I pulled up her top and started suckling her nipples, feeling them stiffen in response. I brought my hand down between her legs and felt the glowing heat coming through the material of her pajama bottoms. I pulled them down and felt her slick wetness under my fingers.

“I want your tongue in my pussy,” she said bluntly. “I want you to eat me out.”

I moaned and quickly moved between her legs, planting my mouth on her wet snatch. I absolutely reveled in her juices, slurping them down as the soft folds of her flesh responded to my insistent tongue. I reached up and played with her nipple. Soon, she was breathing hard and gasping “oh, fuck” repeatedly. She came really hard and I laid my face against her wet heat, rhythmically grinding the hard cock pressing into the mattress.

After basking for a few minutes, she brought me back up and indicated it was time for me to go. I easily slid the cock into her pussy, loosely relaxed and supremely wet as it always is post-cunnilingus. I quickly got up to speed, wanting to enjoy the feeling of purposeful fucking but also wanting to feel the orgasm I knew I’d have. I held her head with one hand, the other on her hip, and kissed her face. I felt such love and affection for her. Felt so grateful to her. So connected to her.

All too soon, I felt the orgasm lock and load. I was still pumping, but beyond the point of no return. It started to well up inside me from great depths. I gasped, “This is yours,” and shot my load inside her. Again and again the cock flexed and more of my seed surged into her. I was grunting and gasping and just fucking coming like a feral pig. I had been so horny – wound up so tight in anticipation – and all of it was swirling away inside as the pent-up energy drained out with the orgasm like water down a drain.

Immediately afterward, I was spent. Totally spent. Exhaustion came over me like a heavy blanket. I felt contentment unlike any I’ve felt in quite a while. This was no half orgasm. There was no restraint on my part. It was my night and I came completely. In no time, I was out. Deeply asleep. Content.

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Not that it matters

I had kind of a crappy day yesterday at work. Lots of negative energy and stress and, by the time I got home, I wanted to connect to Belle physically, but wasn’t exactly horny. It was one of those times where, had I still been able to, I would have gone and jerked off to relieve the stress. In any event, I told her I really wanted to do stuff that night and I think she understood it wasn’t the usual whiny horny Thumper speaking but her mate who needed some special attention.

“Special attention”, of course, takes on a whole new definition when one’s manparts are locked under stainless steel. As we were waiting for the offspring to fall asleep, we watched Stephen Fry in America and I showed her how the lock works on the Steelheart. After an appropriate amount of time, she told me to turn off the light and strip. When I started to strip while the light was still on, she chided me for not following directions.

Once I got the order figured out and asked permission to enter her bed, I assumed my preferred position – head down, ass in the air, face burrowing into her. With my legs spread, I felt the unfamiliar heft of the new device suspended between my legs. She ran her hands over my back and I moved up to get closer. She was on her back, I was on all fours above, kissing her and letting the device rub back and forth over her thigh.

“It’s so smooth,” she said. I think Belle really likes it. She’s the one who said it looked so natural the first time she saw it. I suppose she’s right. It does hang and curve like a real cock, albeit a big fat one made of warm steel.

I asked for and was allowed to touch her all over. Not being allowed to touch her breasts or between her legs makes those moments when I can all the more special. Soon, I was lapping and sucking on her nipples and feeling the new sensation of a curved, yet restrained erection in the steel tube. I held off on going anywhere else other than her breasts since I wanted to extend as much as possible the salutatory effects feeling her writhe to my touch was having on my grumpiness. Eventually, I got into a position where my mouth was on one nipple, my hand on the other, and the elbow of that arm pressed gently into her mons. She started to grind against it and moan. As she got hotter, I got hotter and the pressure in the tube got higher.

What I really wanted was to go down on her. As soon as I had her pajama bottoms off, I shifted my position first by crossing over to her other nipple and then pivoting down so I could plant my face on her snatch. I had to move quickly since she was very close to coming through nothing more than grinding against me so my time between her legs was all too brief. As she came, she squeezed my head hard with her thighs – so hard it hurt.

Afterward, I was pretty worked up. I spooned against her, hard tube nestled between her ass cheeks, and tried to allow sleep to overtake me.

“You can’t even tell when I’m hard,” I said, suggesting that the hard tube never changed regardless of what was going on inside it.

“No,” she replied, “Not that it matters.”

*whimper*

It took a while before sleep caught up with me.